


The Fire and the Flood

by Green



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mates, Soulmates, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 01:12:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7914601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Peter are soulmates who meet the day before the Hale fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fire and the Flood

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd.

Stiles's life is about to change forever, but he doesn't know it. For good, for bad — it doesn't matter. He's coming out of the next two days with more joy and more horror than he could ever imagine at his age.

He's at the park, playing with his best friend Heather and a girl from school, Cora. She's a year older than they are, but she's nice for an eleven year old. They're swinging on the big swings in the park, as high as they can go, and then jumping off into the sand. Trying to see how far they can fly. So far, Cora is winning every single time. Heather and Stiles are tied for second place.

Someone walks up to them. Stiles feels him before he turns around to see him. It's hard to explain what he feels like, this person. Stiles has never _felt_ someone's presence before. From the look on the man's face, he's having a similar…

Feeling. Stiles can feel him. He thinks it's the man? He's… bewildered. Confused. Cautiously happy.

Stiles smiles, because he likes the man feeling happy. The man smiles back. Warmth, kindness, joy, and something warmer and tighter, like a hug that doesn't want to let go.

"Uncle Peter, look how far I can fly!" Cora yells, and jumps. 

The man looks at her, smiles and nods. "That's very good. Who's your friend?"

"I'm Stiles," he says, because he doesn't want to wait for Cora. She's dusting sand off her denim skirt and stripey tights, oblivious to what's happening. Peter is looking at Stiles intently, and Stiles _knows_ he understands what's going on. Stiles wants to know, now.

"I'm Peter Hale," the man says, and holds his hand out. Anticipation. More joy. A shiver of fear, but that's silly. Peter shouldn't ever feel afraid of anything.

Stiles takes his hand and it's like a jolt of everything he's been feeling already, only magnified.

Superpowers. Maybe.

Peter laughs like he can hear Stiles's thoughts. Maybe he can. "How old are you, Stiles?"

"Ten," Stiles says.

Now Peter feels… weird. Dismayed. 

Stiles tightens his grip on the man's hand. _Please_ , he wants to say, but he doesn't know why. He's afraid now. "Did I do something wrong?"

Peter crouches down to Stiles's eye level. Stiles wants to throw his arms around his neck and not let go. Peter says, "No, sweetheart. You're absolutely perfect."

Hearing that makes Stiles feel like his heart is swelling. Growing three sizes, like the Grinch's. "So're you," Stiles whispers, and gives in to his impulse to hug the man.

It's the best hug he's ever had. He never wants to let go.

Peter is the one who pulls away, though Stiles can feel how reluctant he is to do so. "I'll see you again very soon. I promise."

"I don't want you to go," Stiles tells him.

"And I don't want to go. But I'm sure your parents would frown on me kidnapping you," Peter says with a slight smile.

"It's just my dad," Stiles says. He wonders to himself, for a moment, if his father would even care much. Lately, Stiles seems like he's more a burden than blessing to his dad. He takes a breath and shoos off that thought. He doesn't want Peter to get the wrong idea. Or… well, the right one, either. Even though he's sure he could tell Peter everything and Peter would understand.

Peter frowns down at him, concerned. Stiles smiles at him and shrugs. "You'll find me, though?"

"Always," Peter says. Stiles has the thought, or maybe it's Peter's thought, that anyone hearing this conversation would find it (best case scenario) a little odd.

Neither of them care.

* * *

Stiles goes to bed that night holding on to Peter's memory like a teddy bear. He hugs his pillow to him and remembers the way it felt to hug Peter. He doesn't know what it means. He doesn't know why he felt what Peter felt, why he felt his presence when he came near, why it hurts a little inside him, like a fresh bruise, because they aren't together.

He falls asleep dreaming of bright blue eyes looking at him, and a warm voice calling him sweetheart.

* * *

He wakes screaming. On fire. He can feel the flames lick his skin, too hot, too much, surrounded by flame, he's surrounded and he's going to die. Others will die, too. There are others there, around him, screaming, begging, and the fire doesn't listen to begging. The fire is hungry and just swallows them, him, them. 

He screams and screams.

He wakes, his father shaking him, but still he feels the flames. Still he feels the _burning_.

He can't speak. If he could, if he could put together his disjointed, fearful thoughts, he would scream for Peter.

* * *

Three years pass.

Three. Years.

Nearly every night, Stiles dreams of the fire. He stops telling people about his nightmares early on. Learns to wake silently. Learns to _scream_ silently.

He gets more than the fire, sometimes. He gets flashes of anger, of rage, of grief. He knows they are Peter's.

He visits Peter, sometimes. It's difficult, though. Not the sneaking in to see him — that's easy enough. But seeing Peter's blank stare, feeling the swelling, roiling emotion inside him, while remembering the man who crouched down and looked at him like he hung the moon — or was that look on Stiles's face, instead? It's a blurred memory now. Faded and worn from being handled too many times, like an old photograph.

Stiles still carries the memory close to his heart. It's the only thing that keeps him sane some days, when Peter's madness — and that's what it is, that's what Stiles feels — threatens to take him over.

Being near Peter means having all that at once: seeing the reality of the present, feeling what threatens the future, remembering the promise of the past. It's almost too much. Almost enough to keep Stiles away.

But he can't stay away. Peter is his. Somehow, somewhere inside him, there's a perfect piece of himself that clicks with a perfect piece of Peter.

When he was ten, he didn't have words for it. At thirteen, the words come easy, and he's thought them enough now that they don't even sound melodramatic anymore.

Peter and he are soulmates. They belong together. They complete each other. Two absolute disasters.

Stiles doesn't have the scars Peter has, not on his body. But he felt everything that night, all the pain and fear, the heartbreaking pain of losing family to the same blaze that tried to take Peter's life as well. Stiles can close his eyes and see it, see the others, see through Peter's eyes. 

Peter thought he would die. Stiles remembers clearly how Peter was ready to give up after seeing his sister and brother-in-law go up in flames as well. He heard children coughing, crying, screaming as well. And Peter was giving up.

Stiles wouldn't let him. Stiles was there with him and held on to him and reminded him of the little boy he'd just met in the park, the little boy he promised he'd see again soon.

At ten, it seemed like the best thing to do. Making Peter hold on. Keeping him alive.

At thirteen, after years of reliving that night over and over, he's not so sure. Maybe Stiles should have let him go. Maybe Stiles would have let go, as well. Maybe it would have been best for everyone.  
But it's too late to rehash it, even though Stiles does frequently. He saved Peter, saved them both, and now they have to live in the aftermath of all that trauma.

One thing keeps Stiles going. It is the hope. One day, Peter will wake. One day, his eyes will focus. One day, Peter will look at Stiles again, hold his hands, tell him…

Well, Peter won't have to tell Stiles anything, will he? Stiles will know. It's part of their bond.

* * *

"Kate was spotted in Texas, but Gerard and she got away again," Stiles tells Peter. "Well, the FBI's still assuming they're traveling together but they don't know for sure. Gerard hasn't been seen in awhile, or at least he hasn't been recognized."

After the fire and Stiles's reaction to it, miles away, the sheriff took an interest and investigated beyond the initial reports. Garrison Meyers broke down during questioning, too full of guilt to keep the charade going. A teacher at the high school came forward. Arsonists were arrested, and the conspiracy was reconstructed piece by piece.

The FBI got involved when patterns became clear, and similar unsolved crimes, or previous 'accidental' incidents all fit. It took two years, but in the end, the suspects had a lot of evidence piled against them, and they could do nothing but run.

Gerard and Kate Argent each had a different MO, but it became clear to federal law enforcement that they were dangerous killers. Stiles knows of at least seven families dead because of the Argents, and those are only the ones his father told him about.

"It's okay, though. They'll get them. And if they don't, maybe… maybe when you wake up…" Stiles trails off and takes a deep breath. No one is around, so he crawls into Peter's hospital bed and cuddles against his side. "They deserve to suffer and die for what they did," he whispers into Peter's neck.

It's not the first time he's thought it, but it's the first time he's given it voice, quiet though it is.

"You have to wake up, Peter," Stiles tells him. "I need you. I need you so much. I feel like I'm drowning…"

He doesn't tell Peter about his father's drinking, that it hasn't really gotten better over the years. He doesn't tell Peter about his panic attacks, or the nightmares, because Peter has his own nightmares. They're the same. Stiles feels like he doesn't have the right to have PTSD when it wasn't him who went through the fire. Except he did, didn't he? He was right there with Peter.

"Please wake up soon," Stiles says, and presses a shy kiss to Peter's lips. True love's kiss. If only fairy tales were true and Peter would open his eyes now.

Stiles goes home. He falls asleep. He dreams.

* * *

The moon is full and Stiles feels… different. There's something about the night that has him feeling like there's something under his skin, wanting to get out. Like stories about werewolves. Like there's a beast inside him.

He feels it. He knows damn well he's not a werewolf, though. He may be a lot of things, like a messed up teenager with a soulmate in a catatonic state, but he's no supernatural creature.

He closes his eyes and sees Jennifer, Peter's nurse. She's… smiling. Creepily. He worries, but he doesn't get any sense of fear or urgency from Peter.

Maybe he should go check on him. But no, it's late. Too late. And Stiles spends too much time at the hospital as it is.

He can't sleep, though. He's not sure what to do with the crawling, violent thing under his skin. He feels like running.

God, that's crazy. He can't go running in the middle of the night. Except his dad is on a double shift and if he goes into the woods (he really wants to go into the woods) it's not like anyone will see him. 

He laces up his running shoes and just lets his feet take him where they will.

* * *

The more he runs, the more he feels like he's being pulled in a particular direction. There's a power in his chest, beyond the pounding of his heart, that feels like it's going to break out. He's not scared, though he knows he should be. Maybe it's because he's caught Peter's madness. That's how he feels now, a little bit insane. Losing his head. There's a rush, and he moves faster, escaping from everything holding him back, until he crashes into a clearing.

The clearing isn't empty. He's not alone. He should be afraid of what he sees but again, no. He's not. He could never be afraid of who he finds, because it's Peter.

Peter is watching him intently with glowing eyes, his mouth full of fangs and…

He's beautiful. Wild, dangerous, but beautiful. Stiles lets out a small, wounded sound and approaches him. He shouldn't. He should be running the other way. But it's Peter, standing there with focused eyes, and it's every waking dream Stiles has ever had to counteract the night terrors.

He's not entirely _there_ , Stiles can feel that much, but Peter has enough presence of mind, or maybe enough instinct, to wrap his arms around Stiles and hold him like he hasn't in three years. For the second time in Stiles's life, he feels whole.

Stiles immediately bursts into tears of relief. Peter holds him closer, makes a shushing sound that's more wolf than human. God, Peter's a werewolf. No wonder Stiles was feeling like this tonight. It's a full moon and they share feelings, emotions, thoughts.

He wants to beg Peter not to leave again. _Please, please stay. Don't go. Stay with me. I'm so messed up without you. I need you with me. Please stay._

Peter makes another purring, consoling noise. It makes Stiles cry harder and hold on tighter.

Eventually, Peter's emotions seem to cloud. His eyes start to wander, then jerk back like he's trying to stay with it. But he can't, Stiles can tell. So Stiles helps him limp back to the ward, to his room. By dawn, it's like Peter's not even there anymore. Well, maybe a little. There's a glimmer more of him now than there's been in the past.

It gives Stiles hope.

* * *

Stiles visits as much as he always has, but now, for a couple nights a month, Peter is present, too. On full moons (and the night before and the night after), Peter's eyes focus and he can even speak. At first he stumbles, on both his thoughts and words, but Stiles seems to steady him. Anchor him to the here and now.

They don't tell anyone about Peter's slow recovery. It's not safe.

Peter nods when Stiles tells him the fire wasn't accidental, that they've caught a few people involved but that Gerard and Kate Argent are still on the run. That the FBI is after them but they've slipped away every time an arrest was possible.

Stiles says it with ice in his voice, because he can still hear the screams of Peter's family. He can still feel the flames. He touches Peter's scars and feels the same hatred inside himself that he knows exists inside Peter. 

Peter's getting better. As his strength returns, slowly but surely, and as his mind comes back sharp and as clear as before the fire, he holds Stiles and whispers to him about the vengeance they will get. Together.

Stiles is perfectly fine with how permanent Peter's _together_ sounds. They've both lost too much to not hold on to each other as tightly as they do. Stiles has already figured out they are soulmates. Now that he knows about werewolves, he hears the other words, True Mates, what werewolves call what they are. They are rare. A gift.

Six months into Peter's recovery, he's well enough to steal his nurse's car. When he stops by Stiles's house in the middle of the night, Stiles is ready with a bag already packed.

**Author's Note:**

> I may post more of this some day, but right now this is where I want it to end. Leave a comment on the way out?


End file.
